***

“Damn, I’ve got a good one for this, finally. Let me also say that the X-Files is my all time favorite show, and I started watching when I was 11 or so because one of my teammates told me I looked like Fox Mulder (humble brag).

Okay, so when my best friend and I were 15 years old we were in our own little terrible 80’s hard rock cover band. His dad’s friend, who happened to a virtuoso jazz guitarist, asked us if we’d ever seen this amazing, must see guitar movie called “Crossroads.” We hadn’t, but he played it up so much that we just had to go to blockbuster that night and rent it.

So Crossroads is essentially given background by the true folklore story of delta blues guitarist Robert Johnson, who sold his soul to the devil for incredible guitar ability. The legend goes that Johnson walked to a crossroad at midnight, with his guitar, and waited until the devil came. The devil can take any form he chooses, and tends to take a form that would make most sense to the person he’s interacting with. In this case, he’s an older, well-dressed southern gentleman in a fancy old ford. Anyway, the devil comes and inspects Johnson’s guitar and tells him that he can show him a few new tunings that will help him with his guitar playing. Johnson hands the devil the guitar, the devil tunes it, hands it back, and the contract is done. Johnson’s soul has been exchanged and by sunrise he will suddenly be able to play with otherworldly ability.

Okay, so being 15 years old and for lack of much else to do that summer, my friend and I decided to give this thing a try. After a little 14k dial-up research we figured that any old crossroad would do, and as luck would have it, there are plenty of places where 2 roads cross just about anywhere. We each took an electric guitar and at exactly midnight, strode out a few blocks away from his parent’s house to see what happened.

We stood there for upwards of a half hour, feeling a little foolish but bolstered by the brave and bold thing we were doing, joking to each other. After growing bored we began to debate whether or not to call it quits. We’d tried and we’d failed. The devil wasn’t going to really come ask us for our souls, after all, that’s just old folklore.

Suddenly, an unremarkable grey Toyota Camry, or Honda Civic, or Nissan Maxima slowly rolled over to us and pulled to a stop. A youngish man in his mid to late 20’s with spiked hair and glasses rolled down the window and leaned across the passenger seat toward our direction.

At first we weren’t sure what to believe. There were lots of reasons for a car to pull over and inspect two teenagers standing on a street corner at midnight holding electric guitars, some more sinister than the rest. However, this was 1999 or so and things like that just seemed more commonplace than they do now.

“Hey”, he said. “I like what you guys are doing out here. Cool guitars. That’s really cool. You guys are just hanging out here with electric guitars?” We looked at each other. “Yeah” my friend said eventually. “Just hanging out. Bored. Nothing to do.” “You know,” he began, looking directly at me, the resident guitar player in our two man band. “That’s a nice guitar. You should let me take a look at it. I bet I could fix it up for you, show you a few things that might help.” I swallowed hard. Mind frozen, unsure how I’d come to this interpass where the veil between reality and unreality had become so thin. I knew what he’d say next before the words left his mouth. “There are some new tunings I know about….”

We stared at the man in utter disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. My mind felt like it was on fire. Thousands of thoughts fought desperately for purchase, none willing to budge. I froze. Finally my friend, always the most demonstrative of the two of us, spoke up. “Nope. Nope. We’re good. We’ve gotta go!”

Before we left, the man told us that he lived just down the block and indicated a row of nearby houses. He told us to come by if we’d ever had a change of heart.

We ran home, incredulous to the events that had just taken place. We ran back over the event with each other repeatedly to ensure that we hadn’t accidentally sold our souls to the devil. I remember thinking how upset my grandmother would be with me if she’d known that I had went out seeking to make a deal with the devil.

A few days later, composure regained via our usual irreverent juvenile senses of humor, we’d mostly gotten over the event. We decided that if this guy really did live on that block in one of those nearby houses, we should go investigate. So we did.

We took a walk, guitar-less this time, down to the group of 3 or 4 houses the man had vaguely indicated with a swipe of his hand on the aforementioned night. As we approached the general destination, I began to hear faint music that grew louder as we approached. Using the music as a guide, we located the house that was the source of the sound, and sat down on the cool grass separating the sidewalk from the street.

Looking at my light-up Casio watch, the revelation wasn’t lost on me that it was just after midnight. As we listened closer, we were surprised, although maybe not as surprised as we should have been, to hear that the music wasn’t coming from a stereo system, but was live; the rehearsal of a band. Impossibly, as we continued listening, the rehearsing band played a near identical set list of the songs that we ourselves would practice in my friend’s basement, literally less than a quarter mile away. The quality of this band’s practice, however, was incredible, especially since we’d spend some time searching and knew of no local musicians in the area, especially so incredibly close by.

We deemed that location “The Devil’s House” and tried to go back a few more times, but never heard the music again. We never saw the man in the nondescript foreign sedan again, and never attempted another deal. 18 years later, we still tell the story of the night we met the devil to incredulous friends who never seem to believe us.

I promise that this story is 100% true, and we’ve spent plenty of time considering that maybe the guy in the car had seen crossroads himself recently and was just pulling an incredibly effective prank on us. If so, his follow through was excellent, as after that one night, we never again heard or saw of him, his band, and never encountered anyone that could vouch for the fact that he even existed. By that point we were far too scared to do anymore digging and just decided it best to let it be.”